


The Right Place To Be

by Lizardbrain



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, some murders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:25:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbrain/pseuds/Lizardbrain
Summary: A little elf that associates DB rather with 'Dark Brotherhood' than 'Dragonborn'.A crazy jester who isn't that crazy if someone would bother to look.(to be honest, I just wanted to get all those scenarios out of my head, haha)





	1. Chop chop to the block

**Author's Note:**

> Starting off with the classic Skyrim intro but I'll rush/squeeze the events a bit since we probably all know them by heart already. ;)
> 
> If you notice any typos or grammar fails feel free to tell me, thus I can take care of the lil buggers.  
> (This one is not brought up with English in mother's milk, so forgive the errors. May your road lead you to warm sands.)  
> Same goes for any tag recommendations.
> 
> (woah, it has been years since I posted a fanfiction anywhere...)
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy!  
> ____  
> Small update: Since I haven't stated it yet: Skyrim etc. belongs to Bethesda, as does some of the character dialogue.

Great. Just Great. She had a real talent for getting herself in trouble, it seemed. Lyliya looked around. Hands bound, head hurting and her belongings gone. She had left Valenwood for good to try and make her fortune elsewhere, not lose the little she had.

“Ah, you're finally awake,” sounded the heavy accented voice of the Nord sitting across from her. She looked at him unfazed, “Really? What gave me away? My open eyes or my head turning to look around?”

The blonde man, not expecting her retort, needed a moment to remember what else he had wanted to say with his mouth uselessly agape.  
He cleared his throat, and started to speak, having found his voice again. “Well, I am Ralof.” He paused. “You were trying to cross the border, right?”  
She only gave a nod. “Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there,” Ralof added.

Lyliya let out a huff. As if that was enough for her being arrested or for whatever other reason she could not think of right now, and carted off to...well, where to actually?

But before she had a chance to voice her question, the aforementioned thief complained indignantly, “Damn you, Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, ...”

He rambled on but she didn't listen any further, looking suspiciously back at the sturdy Nord. “Stormcloaks?”

Ralof nodded towards her far right side. “Named after the one man that is the rightful High King, Ulfric Stormcloak.”

“Ulfric!? Oh, by the Divines! This isn't good, oh no!”, squirming the thief cried out.

She didn't pay him much attention, instead turned her head, looking to where Ralof had pointed to. Huh, had that man been gagged before? She shook her head free of the thought. All this talk sounded very politic – and for once Lyliya had to admit that her lack of proper interest in politics might have been a cause for getting herself in this troublesome situation.

She wanted to know more. “So, what exactly is going on? Rightful High King? This sounds like a rebellion.”

“Of course it's a rebellion! Where have you been living in the last months?!” the thief berated her. “This is Helgen.” the non-gagged Nord interrupted quickly, having sensed the arising anger in her expression. The carriages slowed down. Something told her they had almost arrived at their destination.

“Look at him,” Ralof motioned with his head, “General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him.”

Ugh, Thalmor. She pursed her lips in dislike. She had nothing against Altmer but the Thalmor with their distinct condescension for the other races, elven or not, were more than a simple nuisance.

“Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.” She raised her eyebrows at that statement. “Well, thank YOU.”  
He tried to apologise but their cart came to a halt. “Alright, all prisoners get off and line up! Come on!”

Lyliya jumped down in the most ungraceful way she ever had, legs being sluggish from sitting on hard wood for so long. She wished she could have rubbed some life back in them and her butt.

In the next few moments the prisoners were called forward by their names. When it was the thief's turn, he wailed how he was no rebel and started running, just to be shot down by an arrow the next second. Now she began feeling queasy.

“You there! Step forward and state your name!” a woman clad in Imperial armour barked, disrupting whatever trace of thought had started to form in the Bosmer's mind. Lyliya glanced back an forth between this woman and the male soldier next to her. “Come on, speak!” The Bosmer was taken aback but finally answered, “Lyliya, and I bet I am not on that list.” She nodded towards the man.

“You're pretty far from home. Not many Bosmer come to Skyrim alone.” The male soldier stated while perusing the piece of paper in his hand.

“Err, Captain... What should we do? She's right, she is really not on the list.” he said hesitantly.

The captain shot the elf a hostile look. “I don't care. She goes to the block!”

From that point on the following events were in a haze that didn't lift until she stumbled through a door with the soldier from earlier.

“My name is Hadvar,” he introduced himself at long last.

“Was that a dragon? A fucking, flipflappidy flap flap dragon?!” her words toppled over, the expression in her eyes still a bit haunted, and her bound hands attempting a sorry excuse of a flapping gesture.

“Seems like it,” the tanned-skinned Nord stated, wondering if she had even taken any notice of his introduction. She drew a few deep, calming breaths.

“Wow, that's... I didn't expect THAT when I decided to come to Skyrim.” She sounded weary.

He looked about her cautiously. “Here, let- let me get this off.” He cut the rope that bound her hands.

She rubbed her wrists. “Thanks, Hadvar. Well, guess I don't need to introduce _me_ anymore,” slight amusement apparent in her voice.

His eyes crinkled with the apologetic smile he offered. “I am really sorry how that went. Seriously, I don't know what got into the captain.”

He motioned for the door leading further into the keep.

“Let's see that we get you somewhat decently equipped and get the hell out of here.”

~~

Her ears perked up at the crawling sound. Lyliya immediately readied her new found bow and sneaked past Hadvar towards the noise. He watched her curiously, yet before he could question her actions, a loud hiss echoed followed quickly by another.

He looked astounded at the dead frostbite spiders. “Well, I'll be damned. You really have good senses.”

She smiled ruefully at him. “Apparently not good enough when I manage to get caught in a raid that has nothing to do with me.”  
He sent her an equally remorseful look.

They kept fighting their way out of the keep until they were out in the open, breathing in fresh air again at last.

“There the dragon flies off.” Hadvar pointed to the sky.

“And it better stay away,” Lyliya mumbled, not sparing a glance while she was picking some flowers and herbs she knew would be good for cure – after all they hadn't escaped unscathed.

She bit off a couple of blue mountain flower heads and chewed them, scrunching her nose at the bitter aftertaste.

“We should split up. I need to get back to Solitude and – what are you doing?” Hadvar knit his brows quizzically as Lyliya spat the makeshift paste on her fingers and started slathering up the cuts on her arms and legs that weren't protected by the Imperial light armour she wore.

“It's always the small scratches that itch the most,” she stated matter-of-factly. The Bosmer wiped her hands on her surcoat. “Splitting up, you say. Any place you recommend me to go?”

The Nord chuckled. “For the start, let's go to Riverwood. My uncle Alvor lives there. We can get some rest before we part ways.”

Now, that was nice. Lyliya smiled appreciatively.


	2. All those nags

A few days later Lyliya was efficiently rested, she had new leather armour and a sharp iron dagger – thanks to Alvor who had shown her how to craft and temper them – and she had been able to exchange the long bow, she had found in the keep, for a hunting bow by selling the Imperial armour and helping out at the mill for coin.

Since Alvor and his family had been most generous and helpful she thought it only just to grant his request to ask the Jarl of Whiterun for help against the impending danger of dragons after hearing from Hadvar and her what had happened in Helgen.

And she had done her good deed. Even more than that, retrieving some old heavy stone the court wizard was sure to be connected with the dragon sightings, and in the process getting the Riverwood trader's decoration back (well, she had received good coin for it) – so why had she to go now towards something she had run away from days ago?

“Whyyyy?” Lyliya whined aloud. One of the guards that Irileth - the Jarl's housecarl - had chosen to go against the winged lizard, eyed the smaller elf but didn't say anything. Better for him, she thought. How the Jarl and his court had concluded that her seeing a dragon and fleeing from it made her in any kind knowledgeable about the flying lizards escaped her entirely.

~~

She was dirty, tired and hurting all over – again. And not amused in the slightest about the surviving guards gathering around her, their increasing murmur mithering her the longer she stayed. What were they trying to get at with their constant awestricken talk about her being _The_ _Dragonborn_? Granted, the strangely feeling mysterious whirl that had risen from the dead dragon and enclosed her was odd, but she really wished for nothing more than to get to the inn, get some food and drink, then a bit more drink, and a bath. All preferably in wonderful aloneness with prospect of leaving all this behind quickly and maybe look for an actual line of work.

So Lyliya was very grateful when Irileth announced that she didn't care about that _Dragonborn_ stuff, the dragon was dead and thus they were done here.

“You there, stranger. You will accompany me and report back to the Jarl.”

Or not.

She groaned, and trudged along but very soon fell back. Not that the Dunmer woman paid any attention to it; she jogged dutifully off ahead.

'That's it, come tomorrow I'm leaving,' Lyliya thought.

And leave she did, gladly, after hearing an outlandish boom thundering over her head when she was on her way back to Whiterun, the Jarl fuzzing over Dragonborns and old men living on mountain tops, then naming her Thane (well, she had sent some pretty neat shots at the dragon) and topped it off by assigning her a housecarl of her own and presenting her with the Axe of Whiterun which she later presented to her housecarl for safekeeping – and because the Orcish axe was much too heavy for her to wield.

The Bosmer woman even had a destination. She had heard some people talk about a town called Falkreath and how it was known for its extensive graveyard. But most importantly, after some enquiry on her side, she learned that Falkreath Hold was densely forested.

She really missed the Valenwood forests, the possibility to stalk up on one's pray unnoticed for the shadows of the underbrush hid the own shadow and form, and to deliver the thrilling killing blow that came at the end of a good hunt.

But, well, first she would have to hunt down some nasty bandits back at the Silent Moons Camp for the bounty. One would think you'd get rewarded some decent coin for helping getting rid of a dragon. A title and an axe were nice but didn't buy a bed nor food nor other supplies like a couple new arrows.

~~

It had been a smart decision to wait until early dusk to sneak around the bandits' hideout and position herself on a rock formation where she had ideal aim but was still sheltered when she took the sentinels out one by one with bow and arrow. The bandit chief, an orc, who was thankfully tired enough and like the others only clad in fur armour, she had been able to snuff with a well placed dagger first through his kidney, then across his throat.

Not so smart had been the decision to not bring much provisions along. And she didn't really fancy the thought of eating other people.

One of the main reasons she had left Valenwood behind was that she didn't conform much to the Green Pact. She liked meat, of course, but having travelled a few times with her parents at an early age had bestowed her the unforgettable deliciousness of pastries made of flour and fruits. The sinful enjoyment was never provided by her beloved parents, though, but by the children she befriended and who deemed it unjustly for a fellow kid not getting any sweets. As she grew older and ventured out on her own, she would indulge in the unique cuisine of the places she visited, resulting one day in her admittance of being quite the blasphemer; feeling bad to stay any longer in her homeland – out of fear to become a hypocrite, and to be shunned if others learned she had violated the Pact knowingly and on purpose.

Lyliya searched her rather modest pack for the map she had received, courtesy of Farengar, Whiterun's court mage. Normally she would've taken the same way back to Whiterun she came. But she was tired and famished, and it was dark by now – traipsing through the fields with the constant possibility of a wolf attack wasn't the best idea. And she could bet the camp with the horse she had passed hours ago was a bandit hideout, too.

Thus, she was searching the map for the nearest road, and maybe some kind of lodging that included a nice warm meal.

Her finger stopped. There, Loreius Farm; it was as far away as the Whitewatch Tower but she doubted that the guards would have much to share in regards of provisions.

The Wood Elf looked herself down. Maybe she should change. Not that in the end the farmers thought her a bandit when she walked up on them in dirty armour at a late hour. Lyliya fished her travel clothes out, a blue dress with cowl, put it on and completed the outfit with simple leather gloves. Much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Lydia specifically like Bosmer, so that back when I was playing, she stepped up to my little Wood Elf with a warm welcome, "I'm glad we're friends.", and handing over a bottle of Nord Mead - or is that just a random thing to occur?
> 
> (psst, btw, guess who's finally making an appearance? *eyebrows-wigglywiggle*


	3. Stranger...danger?

The sight before her was equally disturbing and amusing that it made Lyliya forget she had gotten off course on her way to the farm.  
A man dressed in a red and black fool's motley was stomping around and flailing his arms about, vividly complaining.

“Damned! Damnedest wagon wheel!! Arrrgh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here!! This is no good. No no no... Oh, poor Mother! What to do? What to do?!”

She slowly neared, looking curiously about him. Her eyebrows arched sceptically as her eyes drifted to the huge crate on the cart and back to the man. “Do...do you, by any chance, need, err...help?”

Before she knew what was happening he spun round on his heel and beamed at her, his whole appearance emitting a sensible crazy air.  
  
“Yes! Ooohoho, yesss! The kindly stranger can certainly help!” He nodded enthusiastically. “You see, poor Cicero is stuck. With Mother! Poor, poor Mother... Well, not really her but her corpse, that is.” His eyes took on a canny glint at the last part.

The Bosmer's brows raised, her mouth forming an 'O' before it verbalised. “Ouh, your mother? That is indeed unfortunate.” She rubbed her forehead concerned, thinking what an awkward situation that must be being stuck in the middle of a road with a family member's dead body, preventing you to put the very same to final rest. For once the cooler climate in Skyrim was good for something, she thought. That way the corpse would stay longer...fresh.

Cicero let out a particularly high-pitched sigh. “It is. And that cruddy, mean Loreius won't help Cicero although he has the tools.”  
“Ah, but you, kindly stranger,” he quickly recovered, smiling crazily again, “you can go to the farm and talk to Loreius! It's right over there, just off the road. Convince him to repair the wagon wheel and poor Cicero will reward you! Oh yehehes, he will!”  
The jester started prancing, making funny gestures wiggling his fingers and continuing in a sing-song voice. “With coin! Gleamy~, shiny~ coin~!”

Lyliya stood still, observing the performance with sucked in lips, trying her best not to burst out in a laughing fit. She could feel the contractions in her phrenic. This was likely by far the most hilarious person she had ever met, crazy vibes or not.

The prancing had stopped and he now eyed her curiously, a smile still gracing his features. He slightly leaned closer and tilted his head to the side, “Funny thoughts, hmm?”

As if breaking a spell his voice brought her swiftly back to the task at hand. She cleared her throat, hoping to also clear away her embarrassment for being caught. “It's quite late. Do you think Loreius will be still awake?”  
While she had hoped to get some aid from the farmer herself, she did notice that she had arrived later than expected.

The man in the motley waved at her question. “Oh, don't worry. He's awake. It has only been some time ago that the bloody wheel broke. Also”, he hold his hand up to the side of his mouth and his voice dropped to a whisper, “Cicero thinks he's hiding something. That's why he's acting so leery.”

After a short moment of locking eyes, they both gave a snort.

'Sure, the one being suspect is Loreius,' she thought.

~~

“Why not?” How could this man be so stubborn?  
  
“This guy is NOT trustworthy, that's why.” The farmer regarded her grumpily, his arms akimbo.  
  
“But,” a small whine escaped her and she waved towards the jester, “he's harmless. He just wants to get his mother to her burial.”  
  
Loreius scoffed, “Sure, his _mother_. Who knows what he's really got inside that box. You see its size? Surely must be smuggling something ominous and I don't want any part of it.”

An idea formed. She looked unfazed at her fingernails. “Weeell, an untrustworthy, ominous smuggler in close vicinity to _your_ farm on an official road...” she implied casually.  
Loreius nervous fidgeting told her she was succeeding in her little scheme.  
“And as far as official roads near settlements go, there surely is a guard bound to come by soon, and if they were to, somehow, make the wrong conclusion...” she chanced a glance from the corner of her eyes, weighing the farmer's reaction.  
  
He eventually gave in. “Look,” he said awkwardly, “you might be right. Feller might be nutters, might not. But nonetheless he needs help...” He rubbed his balding head. “I'll get my tools and you go tell that...guy I'll be there shortly.”

~~

She half skipped, half walked down the pathway.

“Ah, the friendly stranger returns!” the jester quipped.  
  
She couldn't stop a smile from visibly forming. “You were right. Loreius is still awake and also,” Lyliya smirked, striking a victorious pose, “he consented to repair your wagon wheel.”  
  
“Thank you!” He grabbed her hands, shaking them gleefully.  
“Cicero is so grateful, kindly stranger! And as promised,“ he let one of her hands go, fished a small sachet out of his pouch and dropped it in the open palm of her other hand, “your payment.”  
  
She was about to decline – judging from the weight, the amount was far too generous – but the words died on her tongue as he regarded her with a strange look, between daring and reprimanding.  
She opted to nod confirmatively instead. “You're welcome.”

And just as she wanted to suggest to stay to make sure Loreius would really show up, they saw said farmer's silhouette approaching.

“I'll be on my way then. Take care and...get your mother safely...home.” Her farewell had a guessing undertone for lack of actual knowledge about the red haired Imperial's destination.  
  
“Kindly stranger, know that Cicero shall not forget your generous deed,” he countered with a flourish.  
He peered up from his light bow; his voice dropped to an auspicious tone, “Stay safe.”  
  
A shiver ran down her spine from the intensity in both his eyes and voice. Before she could dive further into pondering their peculiar exchange, though, Loreius called for Cicero to lend him a hand, and she decided this was the fitting moment to make her exit.  
With a last 'Goodbye' and wave of her hand she paced down the road towards Whitewatch Tower.

'Great. Still no proper food nor a bedroll or stack of hay to sleep on,' she thought slightly sulking as she bit into an apple on the verge to rancidness. Hopefully the guards would let her stay a bit with them; maybe she could even have a little nap before returning to Whiterun.  
But she had helped someone who seemed to genuinely appreciated it – and the thought was not only born because of her now rather hefty coin purse.

'He was really an interesting fellow. I wonder when we will meet again...or if.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There he is, finally! 
> 
> I realised during writing, and reading other fanfictions that most Cicero fans have a very, veeery similar mindset, haha.
> 
> Gawd... I already have so many notes outlining future chapters that my main concern is just how the friggedy frigg am I to glue them together?! (uwaaah~~)


	4. Stupid people with their stupid money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments, and most of all: for reading!
> 
> Sorry to have kept you waiting, I had planned to update earlier but I couldn't really get into writing mood lately. >3<
> 
> Thus, here you go. A bit of character building stuff and things. ;D 
> 
> Starting with the next chapter we'll finally dive fully into the DBH quest line oriented story line.

Falkreath was...a peculiar place. It had a certain gloomy quality to it – especially taking the localities' names into account: Gray Pine Goods, Dean Man's Drink, Corpselight Farm, and, her favourite due to the double pun, Grave Concoctions. But contrary to most people it didn't have a repelling effect on Lyliya, rather the opposite. It felt strangely homey to her. Then again, not that strange if one took into account that she was a Wood Elf, used to live surrounded by thick undergrowth and trees, and that by being in Falkreath she was surrounded by exactly that – a _lot_ of forest.

Lyliya stepped out of the inn after a well-deserved nap and stretched her arms above her head contentedly. She had _finally_ made it to Falkreath. Of course, her planned short stop in Whiterun had been anything but and she had let herself be talked into retrieving an inherited sword. What was the guy's name again? Amen...Amor...Amren! Right...at least he taught her some practical moves she could make use of with her daggers. Right, daggers! With the generous reward from the jester, the sorry excuse of 100 Septims from the bounty and the additional coin from selling the few pieces of loot she had collected, she had not only been able to pay for the passage to Falkreath but also to buy herself a new pair of fine steel daggers from Adrianne's forge. Now her new favourite friends were comfortably sheathed at her hips and waited for her to get some more gold to pay for some steel to temper them.

It was early afternoon and she thought about looking around town. Valga, the innkeeper, had been so kind as to tell her the general directions.

~~

"I can't believe we let provincials like you wander Skyrim."

Lyliya stopped dead in her tracks. 'What the-...Excuse me?!'

She just wanted to check out the general goods store, nothing more and was greeted with THIS. Unable to contain her immediate irritation she shot back. “And _I_ can't believe they let ARSEHOLES like _you_ wander Skyrim!”

She surely must've looked furious if the tall, bearded man, now utterly speechless, downright fleeing the store was any indication.

“Err, don't mind my brother,” said the other tall, blond Nord behind the counter warily.

Her head snapped in his direction, brows still drawn together, looking very displeased. “You're lucky I came here to merely browse. If I had planned to actually purchase anything, be sure, I would have taken my business elsewhere. Even if I had to go all the way back to Riverwood.” She finished her waspish rant with a pointed glare before ripping open the door. “Good day!”

Solaf was left to stare at his shop's door clattering in its hinges, the words of a fairly weak apology dying on his lips. He really should consider earnestly talking with his brother Bolund about his evidently unfavourable antics. Truthfully, as in most smaller towns, he couldn't afford to risk losing any potential customer.

~~

That was unpleasant. She felt like stabbing something. Or someone, for that matter. Or just poison them.

With that last kind of thought it came as no surprise she found herself standing in front of the alchemy shop. Lyliya snickered involuntarily at the name. Really, it was funny. 'A grave concoction from the grave putting you in a grave.' She hummed and entered.

“Don't let the shop's name frighten you away.” The only other person in the store welcomed her.

“Don't worry,” she waved a hand at the Redguard woman, “I find it quite inviting, to be honest.” She offered a friendly toothy smirk.

The alchemist gave a chuckle, clearly unprepared for such a statement. “Well, that's clearly a first. So, what can I help you with?”

“Hmm,” the little Bosmer pondered, “some healing stuff would be good...how much are your healing potions?”

“I only have minor ones in store, currently. They are 47 per vial.”

Ugh. Even minor healing potions were a bit too much to afford with her actual purse state.

“You know what,” the dark skinned woman took pity on the little elf when she noticed her disgruntled, pensive expression, “I have a couple of blisterwort left. I'll sell them to you for seven Septims each. You can mix blisterwort with wheat or certain flowers into a health potion. Feel free to use my alchemy table.” She smiled compassionately.

Lyliya didn't need to think about it too long. She pulled out her purse and count out 21 gold coins. While warmly thanking the kind alchemist – Zaria was the name – she shuffled over to the alchemy table behind the counter and put down the mushrooms along with some empty vials and fumbled out some of the blue mountain flowers she collected whenever she happened upon them.

“That's...mh, ah, yes, the smell and colour are right,” Zaria nodded, “A proper health potion.”

After a while, Lyliya was stocked up on potions and, she had felt adventurous just trying mixing up whatever ingredients she found in her pack, a poison, and bid the Redguard woman goodbye. She would definitely return to this shop whenever she was around.

~~

There she was. Back in the inn, damning her good mood after leaving Grave Concoctions over a mug of mead and some bread with cheese and eggs. The damned good mood had lead her to skip over to the blacksmith, casually talk to him, casually agreeing to find his, yet not his but more like a stray dog, and now she was casually sitting here nursing her drink, munching her meal and contemplating whether six or seven in the morning would be better to set out and search the damnable mutt.

“Enemies and ears. Both are everywhere.”

“Excuse me?” Lyliya was startled out of her musings when Dengeir, the former Jarl – of which he seemed to inform the people now and then even if unasked – sat down on the bench opposite of her.

“I'm talking about Lod.” The old man stated in a conspiratorial tone, leaning over to Lyliya. “Empire is making him smith more and more equipment for them. I just know it.”

The Bosmer was somewhat taken aback. What had all that to do with her? “Can I, uhm, help you?” She nonchalantly bit into a hard-boiled egg.

“You are quick to follow. Yes, I require your help. Lod is most assuredly working as a spy for the Empire but...”

She swallowed, then sighed unimpressed, “But you need final proof.”

“Exactly.” The white-bearded Nord inclined his head affirmingly. Harrumphing, he added, “Of course there'll be compensation for your troubles.”

She finished off her dinner and inconspicuously scanned the inn, sipping the rest of her mead. She spotted Lod at the far end of the inn, standing at the counter and talking animatedly with Valga. Putting her mug down and under standing up, Lyliya muttered unnoticed to Dengeir, “I'll be right back. Order a new round.” She brushed off her hands on the red apron of her dress and in a matter of seconds slipped out the main door unnoticed, save for the old Nord.

And as fast as she had disappeared, she reappeared and seated herself at the table again, unobtrusively passing a letter to Dengeir.

He raised a bushy eyebrow in acknowledgement. “That was faster than I expected.” He unfolded the letter. “Let's see...” His triumphant expression faltered. “Hm...well, this...”

Lyliya nodded exaggeratedly insightful. “I know...Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, no,” the old man intervened, still looking at the letter, “somehow I'm relieved. Here,” he finally looked up, holding a small bag in his other hand under the table, “as promised.”

She quickly sneaked it into the safety of her skirt pocket and raised her fresh mug in thanks, being in a good mood again.

That she said _you're welcome_ wasn't the best choice of words for the bald, elder Nord seemed to interpret it as an invitation to ask her yet another favour – in exchange for good coin, of course.

Damn her good mood, indeed.

~~

She urgently needed someone to blame but there really wasn't anyone else but herself.

Her day had started with a very interesting run-in with the “dog” she was supposed to find for Lod. But instead of bringing the mutt back the short distance it was actually away from Falkreath, the animal had the audacity to talk her into escorting him back home!

There was a short moment, she wondered about the dog talking, but she was a Bosmer and they could kind off talk to animals and stuff...so she really didn't dwell on it much.

However, after trudging through some ghastly terrain, mainly a mixture of cold dirt, cold snow and cold snowy mud and altogether awful coldness, passing by the bandit infested remains of Helgen as stealthily as possible, and somehow surviving the slippery, ice-covered pathway to Haemar's Shame – and Haemar was probably ashamed of his stupid choice of a cave location – she had deposited the dog, Barbara or what's-his-name, at a Daedric shrine inside the cave. All the Daedra talk didn't matter that much to her, especially not after the dog's master suggested, she go to yet another cave in some mountain area on the other end of Skyrim. She had excused herself to maybe come back and maybe get the whole affair over and done with another time. After all, she had a vampire to kill. The enchanted bow she had found in the cave was a nice compensation, though.

She took a break. How, by Lorkhan's Moons, was it possible that of all things to kill, she agreed to kill a vampire? How had Dengeir succeeded to persuade her? She fished out some dried meat and bit into it mercilessly. As always, it was her way too light purse, and part was sympathy, to be honest. She did know the love and worry for family. And if it came to some long dead ancestors, even she was convinced that probably it was best for them to stay dead.

~~

Feather-light footsteps. Breathing shallow. The nervousness crawled over Lyliya much like the goose-flesh that prickled over her arms.

She had managed to advance inside the fort without great effort so far. Bloodlet Throne, Dengeir had said, it was called. More like Arse-freezing Throne, if she was to name it. Actually, the whole way, including the side trip to Haemar's Shame, had been one arse-freezing venture – not to mention, that she got lost two times over looking for this stupid ice-brick of a fort.

She shook herself out of her musings, hopefully the coldness off, and peered around the corner of her hiding place.

Good, Vighar as well as his subordinate hadn't noticed her – yet. Eyes narrowed, arrow nocked and breath held, Lyliya concentrated and ever so slowly leaned out, aiming at Vighar's chest.

And then she let loose, the arrow zipping through the air, erupting into magical flames due to her new bow's enchantment. In the blink of an eye it buried itself inside the master vampire, making him shriek in an unholy, inhuman tone caused from various levels of pain – the impact, the fire, and the treacherous magicka poison Lyliya had dipped the arrowhead in beforehand.

He may had leapt down towards her, but was now on his knees, slouched over. Oh, the agony of his pained cries were a cruel melody to her ears.

She quickly snapped out of her macabre reverie and took out the other vampire with well-practised and inherent precision as he lunged for something that looked a lot like a lever; her eyes switched to the latticed contraptions imprisoning a pack of wolves. He had probably intended to sic them on her.

Having taken care of that bloodsucker, her attention reverted to her main target who was clawing at his chest. “What have you done, bitch?! I can barely heal myself! Whyyyy!!!” he cried out.

Lyliya snorted undignified and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Well, ...” she stepped closer, “magicka draining poison is a fine thing, won't you agree?” He interrupted her with a snarl, making her merely sniff before she continued. “And seeing how you are not immune to it,” the Bosmer woman rounded him until she was standing at the back of his hunched figure, “you are not as strong as you believed yourself to be.” The last words, dripping with vitriol, being whispered into his ear right before her dagger slit through his throat in a swift, strong motion.

The horror in the vampire's eyes was evident when the blood gushed out of the gash at his throat and out of his mouth; whatever else he had meant to spout at her dying under the gurgling of his life force rushing out.

She wiped her forehead with her free arm, the other wiping the dagger roughly clean on his robes, still in a crouching position when suddenly she was nudged from the side. Her eyes widened in a brief moment of shock when she found herself eye to eye with a black wolf, its blue orbs mustering her not with feral ferocity but something almost akin to kindness. She blinked and the wolf gave a whine.

How come it didn't attack her? Wait. How did it get out of the makeshift kennel in the first place? Who cared anyway. She carefully made her way to the corpses spread around, collecting anything of value to barter off later at Lod's and maybe, if she felt like it, at Gray Pine Goods; and finally, she was headed in the direction of the entrance now turned exit.

Lyliya was almost in the main hall when she realised the wolf was still accompanying her. Fascinating. Suddenly there were two more wolves trotting about, looking at her expectantly. She was still in a slightly hunched pose so as not to alarm the wild animals. “Let's get you out here, shall we?”

~~

It was well into the night again, when she saw the light of Falkreath in the distance, a content yet tired smile gracing her lips. As much as she had been annoyed during her _little_ mission, the incident with the wolf pack had had a surprisingly placating effect. Sure, Bosmer were naturals when it came to dealing with animals, nevertheless, carnivorous predators were still difficult to approach.

Every fibre and bone was yearning for rest, though, and her stride widened with each next step. In a few moments she could at long last retire for the night and come morning collect her reward from...

“We're here to teach you a lesson!”

“Yeah! This'll teach ye not ta take things tha' don' belong ta ye!”

Oh, come on now...

About 20 minutes later Lyliya stood breathing heavily above the bodies of three ruffians, she had dispatched.

Hired thugs? Really now?! Over a little stolen letter that didn't even hold any grave information, just telling to dig up more iron ore. She never would've imagined Lod to be such a petty man.

Lyliya was more than a little aggravated, she was downright _angry_. What did the contract letter the thugs had say again? 'You need not kill her, but I have no qualms about it if you deem it necessary.' That fucker!

She had just returned – in fact, the thugs attacked her the minute she stepped through the town gate. And Lod was the reason she had a tedious journey with a dog _he_ had asked her to find. Said dog being no lesser than Barbas, ever so loyal companion of Clavicus Vile, a Daedric prince! Oh, how she wanted to smash that little fact into Lod's face, and perhaps threaten to tell everyone how he had sought out the servant of a Daedra. 'Missing dog', my arse! To top it off, she had also killed a damn vampire in this hold who would've become a legal threat sometime soon if she hadn't eliminated him!

But for now she would be content enough to just rub the thugs' armours and weapons into his face, meaning, she stacked the whole junk in a pile directly at his house door.

She tapped her lower lip, an idea forming. 'That's great!' Her eyes lit up in mischievous mirth.

The next morning, when Lod opened his entrance door he instantly froze. A heap of discarded armour and some weapons greeted him, but what left him in cold fear was the topping of the cluster: a single nightshade flower – a clear warning.

For that sight alone, Lyliya didn't regret getting up earlier than she had originally planned.


	5. Wannabe Assassin - Part I

Valga was really desperate for gossip but this particular story had Lyliya's ears perk up on attention.

“...poor child escaped from the orphanage in Riften. Some people say, he'd gone back home, to Windhelm. Boy is supposedly all alone. Trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood...”

Lyliya listened in curiously. That sounded interesting. What in the world prompted a child to try contacting the infamous grouping of assassins? But the very minute she wanted to enquire about this rumour any further, Lyliya was joined by Dengeir. “Good morning. I see you're faring well. So, I guess you were successful, yes?”

She turned to face him with a half-smile, hoping she didn't look too annoyed about him unknowingly disrupting her. “Yes, your ancestor is at peace now, I suppose...as far as that is possible for former vampires...”

The old Nord nodded lightly with a solemn smile. “I hope he is...” He cleared his throat. “Now, you more than earned this.” He took her hand in a fatherly way and placed a well-filled coin purse into her palm. “This should get you around for a while, little adventuress.” With this he excused himself and left her to her breakfast. 'Seems like some Nords could see past one being an elf, huh?'

She finished her food before she discreetly checked her reward. This were well over 200 Septims. _Nice!_

Now, what did Valga say about that boy? Fled from the orphanage in Riften and back home... “Where is that orphan boy again?” She propped herself against the counter in a casual manner.

Valga flinched, slightly confused. “Huh? Sorry?”

“What you talked about earlier”, Lyliya clarified, “This rumour about an orphan trying to contact the-”

“Ah! The Aretino boy!” Valga interposed, her eyebrows lifted up in an expression of comprehension. “Brave fella was seemingly able to make it back to his family home in Windhelm, all the way from Riften. My, just imagine...” she rambled on, not bothering anymore if Lyliya was even still listening. As soon as Narri joined in the talk again as well, the little Bosmer scurried to her room, donned the rest of her armour, grabbed her things and slipped with a hurried “See you!” out of the inn.

First, she would go back to Whiterun to catch a carriage to Riften – after all, she needed more information if she wanted to fully sate her curiosity, and she was not wacky enough as to travel that kind of distance on foot.

~~

The carriage wobbled over the bumpy road, rocking Lyliya to and fro as she sat silently, lost in thought.

Why would a child of all people want to sign a contract with an assassin? That was not a mere pastime but a serious, nay dangerous endeavour. An orphan...maybe his parents were murdered and he found out who the culprit was and was now seeking revenge? Whatever the reason, how did he even know how to contact the Dark Brotherhood?

Lyliya's eyes widened in realisation: Really, how did one contact the Dark Brotherhood? What was required? It wasn't as if you could just go to the market place or a tavern and have a note hanged out. The thought was hilarious, though.  


'Dear Dark Brotherhood,

I ask for your assistance.

Please find me at XY, where we can fix further arrangements.

Sincerely,...'  


Her snort for apparently no obvious reason earned her a few questioning, strange looks from the other passengers.

Perhaps there was a chance to get a book about the renowned organisation. If not at a library, then at a shop. The coachman did mention that Riften was – not so thriving anymore, but still – a trading city. And where there was trade, there were people and gossip and tittle-tattle.

~~

“A'righ', e'ryone! We're almos' a' Riften!”

Lyliya startled awake with a whole body shake. For a moment, she believed herself back in the cart on a ride to a horrifying destiny.

Giving her face a good wakening rub, she forced the displeasing memory away.

The other passengers were still occupied with unloading and arranging their luggage and stretching their sore limbs when Lyliya hoisted her pack over her shoulder and made straight for the city gates.

A guard strode purposefully forward. “Halt. You need to pay the visitor's tax first, before you can enter the city.”

She looked up, her eyes narrowing and her upper lip lifted on one side painting her face in an expression that asked if he was in his right mind. “Are you trying to pull my leg?” she broke the silence of disbelief. “A tax? What for again? From what I heard, _you_ should pay _me_ for visiting,” she huffed sarcastically. “This got the stench of fraud on it.” She rested her fists on her hips, standing lopsidedly.

“Alright, alright!” he half whispered hurriedly. “Keep it down, will you!” The much taller guard tilted his head in the direction of the stables, then to his comrade. “Well...go on then and...err, if you could...”

“Sure thing,” she clapped his shoulder in passing, “won't tell...for now.” And she was in.

~~

And she was almost out.

Riften was bustling! The minute she entered the city, more than once, she had to dodge some errand boy or merchant laden with goods or carrying bulky crates. - Not so thriving anymore, sure.

It took her a few moments until she was safe from all those busy bees, walking through a quieter side street that led her advantageously directly to a shop. Pawned Prawn, the sign read.

~~

“Unbelievable...” Lyliya muttered sulkily under her breath. Such a big city and no library. It was a mystery to her. But what irked her even more, was how the shopkeeper only waved her away when she had asked if he was selling any books on the Dark Brotherhood, telling her how there was enough trouble with the Thieves Guild to bother about the Brotherhood. And the other people she happened upon and asked if they knew anything about them, reacted either in the same manner or didn't know anything. Or didn't want to talk about it.

Still brooding, she wandered around and found herself in the market square. 'Might as well check the orphanage,' she thought and stalked past a stall. “Hello there, can I maybe enthuse you with some fine goods from Morrowind?” The Dunmer vendor waved at her smiling. His smile dropped a bit when she turned her attention to him. “My, don't you look unhappy. Why is that?” He crossed his arms on the counter and leaned forward.

Lyliya pondered for a moment whether she should tell him, but he sounded genuine. “You know,” she sighed, “I'm looking for certain books...or one, at least, but there's no library here, and in the general goods store I was not even taken seriously...” She stared sullenly at the cobblestone.

“I sadly don't sell books...hmmm...Have you tried the temple yet?” Pointing a thumb somewhere behind him. “Sometimes temples hold a few tomes. No guarantee that you'll find what you seek, though. But it's better than nothing.” He smiled at her reassuringly.

“No, I have not,” she answered honestly, sounding perplexed. “Where is the temple?”

“Over there. It's the Temple of Mara.” She followed his pointer finger with her eyes. “Ah, right. Here.” He produced a little bundle in simple cloth wrapping from below the counter. “It's an ash yam pastry. Take it.”

Lyliya ogled him with shiny eyes. “How much does-?”

“Pssha, don't mind.” He friendly dismissed her. “What's better against foul mood if not a tasty treat?”

A chuckle escaped her. “True. Well, thank you very much.” She inclined her head. “I'll be at the temple then.” With a last parting smile she walked away, munching on the unusually tasting but delicious sweet pastry.

~~

Two elven eyes stared at the pages. Now _this_ she hadn't expected to find in a Temple of Mara. _This_ being a copy of “A Kiss, Sweet Mother” that entailed a detailed description of how to summon the Dark Brotherhood.

Lyliya blinked.

'...assembled from actual body parts... Proceed to stab the effigy repeatedly with a dagger...'

An uneasy feeling settled in her guts like a stone. If the rumours were true, then that Aretino boy had... She shuddered at the thought. Kid must have a strong stomach.

Without further ado, she stuffed the book into her pack. Time to pay the orphanage a visit.

~~

“Hey, won't you adopt me?”

“No, me! Adopt me!”

“Can you be my mama?”

A horde of children was circling a bewildered Bosmer.

“I'm sorry, the children are not up for adoption at the moment.”

Lyliya's head shot up to look even more perplexed at Constance Michel.

What was this place? This couldn't possibly be an orphanage. Could it? This was nothing compared to what she was used to. Bosmer were very familial and tribe-oriented and orphaned children would mostly be taken in by another family without question; and if not right away, the temporary orphanages that formed, if there were any waifs left, were organised in much the same manner as a family would. And never would anyone prevent adoption if it was genuinely meant. But what was done here was beyond cruel. Lyliya started to get an idea why the boy had run away and-

“Those who shirk their duties will get an extra beating! Do I make myself clear? Who are you?!” An old crone entered the main hall, croaking in a malicious tone. “You have no business here. Leave! And you lot!” She pierced the children with a mean scowl. “Don't even think about getting adopted! No more talk about that! None of you riff-raff is getting adopted. Ever! Nobody needs you, nobody wants you,” the embittered old bag hissed.

The small Wood Elf was beyond words. She stood staring in shock with her mouth hanging open. NOW she was perfectly sure as to why young Aretino had fled. And the rumour about him? Oh, yes, she was definitely starting to get the picture.

“You still here?! I told you to leave!”

Lyliya shook herself. “Sure thing,” she said, her voice hard. “Hope you choke on your own breath,” she muttered unheard by the unfriendly crone and turned towards the entrance.

She was about to open the door, when she felt a weak pull on her armour's belt.

“I hate Grelod. She's the meanest person ever.” There was so much wordless pleading in the child's eyes, it was almost appalling. Before Lyliya could say anything, the kid flitted away when the old bag's bickering arose anew.

If she had needed any further urging then this had been the last push. She would get some provisions and take the first carriage to Windhelm.

~~

The wind blew with a force as if trying to keep anyone out of the city's walls. Lyliya pulled the fur cloak around her shoulders tighter. Good thing she had at one point helped herself not only to the pair of leather gloves but also a hood, back in Whiterun at the Bannered Mare. Though, she was still anticipating some warm meal and mead at the tavern as the freezing chill was biting at her face and seeping more and more through the fabric of her armour and other clothing.

“Hands to yourself, sneak thief.” One of the gate guards spat at her.

What a warm welcome. She would've liked to retort with a snide remark but she figured it was best to save her breath this time and just trudged past the offensive man, sending him a dirty glance out of the corner of her eye and a _nice_ piece of her thoughts. 'Pile of horseshit.'

Entering the city, she found it was very much as its walls: Grey and dull. But the scene unravelling before her was outrageous. A couple of Nord men were harassing a Dumer woman in a more than foul way.

“Hey! You here! I would have NEVER guessed!” Lyliya exclaimed in her most yucky honeyed voice. “How long has it been?” She placed a hand on the stranger's shoulder, her eyes urging the other elven woman to play along.

“A-ah, yes...” the Dark Elf stuttered unsure.

“These some friend of yours?” The Bosmer stared the men down, her other hand fiddling her bow.

“Heed my words – we're _not_ done with you, yet! You're off the hook, for _now._ ” One of Nord man annotated, pointing at the Dunmer, before he and his fellows walked away.

The Dumner woman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh dear...”

“Does this happen often?” Lyliya enquired worried.

“Sadly, yes. But don't fret. I'm used to it. But nonetheless, thank you. I really wasn't much in the mood to fend them off today. It was a rather hard week...”

Lyliya raised her brows. “Ah...well,...err...nice?” She scrunched her face before reminding herself of her actual plan. “Uhm, do you know where I can find the Aretino estate?”

The other elven woman chuckled. “Estate is a bit far-fetched, but yeah, I can tell you where the Aretino mansion is.” She turned and held her arm out, pointing to a building that had a bridge design. “Over there.” She patted the smaller elf's shoulder. “Stay safe. Windhelm is by far Skyrim's harshest place.”

“Stay safe.” Lyliya smiled back before they parted ways. When she only saw but a mere shadow of the other elf, she started for the direction of the Aretino mansion. Meal and mead forgotten.


	6. Wannabe Assassin - Part II

The creaking of the wooden stairs seemed to go unnoticed, just like picking the lock and sneaking in had. Not that the first ordeal had been really difficult, in a cold and windy city, in the evening hours when most people preferred entrenching themselves inside than roaming the streets. Even the guards seemed slowed down by the snowy breeze, howling around the old, dark bricks.

The nearer she came to the top of the stairway, the clearer became the whining murmur accompanied by a noise that reminded her of chopping – no, stabbing.

“....Mother, sweet Mother...” - Stab. Stab. “For the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear...” Stab. Stab.

She crept closer. “Please...how long must I do this?” It was the sobbing of a child; it sounded so forlorn. “I keep praying, Night Mother. Why won't you answer me?”

Lyliya stepped into the open doorway, eyes growing huge. There knelt a boy, probably no older than ten years, in a circle of candles over an assemblage of bones, a wilted nightshade flower, an unidentifiable piece of meat and what seemed to be a human heart, stabbing the floor over and over. She wasn't sure what she had all wanted to ask him, her curiosity fading into the background.

Then again, there was no need to say anything as the boy noticed her presence, his head snapping up. “You came...” He stood up, his features brightening by the second. “You...You really came!” His voice wavered between relief and despair, with a touch of laughter.

The shadow cast by the hood over Lyliya's eyes obscured her stunned yet compassionate look effectively. Suddenly, a fleeting thought startled her out of the pitying. Something about that boy's reaction reminded her of someone...someone she had met, not too long ago... The strange man! The jester! A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, trying to break free.

“I knew you'd come...I knew it...” the boy drew back her attention, “I did the Black Sacrament over and over...”

She wanted to say something, anything, to give the kid in front of her some reassurance, she really wanted to but her lips were glued and thus, she remained silent.

"You don't have to say anything. There's no need. You're here, so I know you'll accept my contract." He cheered. “Ah, right, uhm...I'm Aventus... I can pay you!” He darted around the room, then produced an intricately worked silver plate. “It's an old family heirloom. It is purely made of silver!” Aventus offered it to her with an expression that wouldn't let her refuse his request.

She accepted the payment, and rose to speak for the first time, if not much. “Do go on.” Her voice sounded calm.

He nodded keenly. “I wish she was gone. Forever gone.” Then his look turned sad, eyes cast down on the floor, his small hands balled into fists. "My mother, she...she...” A deep sigh left him. “I'm all alone now. So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. Honorhall. The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind.” He huffed derisively. “But she's not kind! She's terrible! To all of us!” Aventus looked up with a seriousness no child should have. “So I ran away, and came home. And performed the Black Sacrament. Now you're here! And you can kill Grelod the Kind!"

Lyliya gave a firm nod. “It shall be done.” That was a request she was more than happy to oblige.

~~

The next day painted Windhelm and its surroundings in an utterly different light, the sky blue and clear of clouds, giving way to the warm sunlight.

Lyliya stepped out of the Candlehearth Hall, all too eager to leave this blasted city and its elven-hating citizens behind, save for the Dunmer and Argonians living there. She never had heard “Damn elves!” so often in such a small amount of time as she had the late evening before, when she had gone to the inn to retire. It was repelling, yes, but even more it was annoying.

At least today's gate guards didn't comment on her passing and she was left to her own musings as she plodded towards the stables.

~~

As she rode in the carriage she thought through her plan again and again. She'd have to find a place safe enough to store her belongings. It would be too risky to take her pack with her. For this undertaking she needed to be as agile as possible.

She would also have to scout for a convenient escape route. Fortunate enough they would most probably arrive around midday, which would give her enough time for preparation.

~~

There were certain benefits from being of a smaller built and being a Wood Elf who grew up in the forests of Valenwood. Lyliya knew how she had to move, which shades to use to stay undetected. But even she had some doubts about her finding a decent hiding place around or better yet, inside the orphanage. All the more surprising it was that she had managed to get inside the orphanage, see the children returning from what seemed to be a backyard, and pass by them unnoticed to go to said backyard. Where she now, huddled in a corner, waited for the early evening to turn to night.

Hours passed and the elven woman wished she would have taken at least some crumbs of bread with her to snack on. Waiting was a pain in the arse. And sooo boring.

She sighed, fumbling around her hood and gloves a final time, then honed in on the sounds coming from inside the orphanage. She couldn't hear any voices or major shuffling, that would indicate that the children were still awake. Hopefully, they were all asleep, including the caretakers. Or caretaker. Only one. Grelod certainly could be omitted.

She inhaled deeply, then cautiously prodded at the door. Fortunately, it wasn't locked. The Bosmer wormed inside ever so carefully, scanning the area. Just when she assumed all were asleep, she heard rummaging sounds coming from her right. At the end of the children's sleeping hall was a room. The door hung ajar, a streak of light pouring out.

If by instinct or any other kind of intuition, she crept over and espied her very target.

“Bleh, those filthy brats...” Scratching sounds, presumably from a quill. “How much more do they plan to eat? Ungrateful urchins.”

Lyliya scrunched her nose in disgust. She stole a last glance back to the sleeping children, then slipped into the room, closing the door soundlessly.

She didn't waste any time and unsheathed her dagger. She hovered for only a couple of second behind the old hag to ready herself. Then, in a flash of movements, one hand darted forward, clasping it over the crone's mouth, the other pressing the dagger into the old, flabby flesh of her throat.

“You will terrorise those children or any other no more,” Lyliya whispered spitefully into Grelod's ear. “No precious Sovngarde for you.”

Her knife sliced swiftly through the skin and jugular, her hand pressing down on Grelod's mouth with a strength the Bosmer didn't know she harboured, rendering any resistance useless. It was over sooner than expected, the hag hanging limply in her grasp. She roughly wiped her weapon clean on Grelod's skirt before sheathing it, her other arm moving slowly so the dead body wouldn't slump over noisily.

Lyliya slipped out as quickly and secretly as she had gained entry and flitted through the back alleys under the cover of darkness. When she deemed herself a safe distance away, she leaned against the coolness of a stone wall, trying to steady her breathing and calming down her heart that seemed leaping up her throat. She pulled the hood off, her hand dropping heavily to her side, eyes closing briefly. She had killed someone. Lyliya stared at the sky above. Not just simply killed – as she had done with bandits and the likes previously. Never before had she taken a life unless to safe her own. She had murdered, _assassinated_ another person. Just for the sake of it. And the thrill coursing through her system was exhilarating!

She inhaled deeply – an ear-splitting distant scream disturbed the night – and her breath caught. Her head jerked left and right. Shouts arose and grew closer. “Shit!” They must've discovered Grelod's body already. By the trees, how? It was in the middle of the night! Her quick feet carried her almost soundlessly to the wooden stairs leading to the lower level of the city. She practically flew the steps down, swiftly merging herself with the shadows again and rushed to the far end of the planked pavement facing the port.

The wooden watergate was closed. Great. She briskly checked if everything on her person was in place ere she let herself slowly into the water, so as to not ripple the surface too much. When she was almost fully immerged, she took a deep breath and dived down. Thankfully the watergate didn't reach down that much, letting her swim beneath it without difficulty.

When she emerged, Lyliya was metres away from imminent danger. A few more strokes and she was on the small island that lay in the Riften bay and could be seen from the fishery. She dragged herself on the shore and crawled on all fours towards some bushes. Better be safe than sorry. She spread herself over the ground, lying on her back and greedily taking in some air, finally being a bit at ease again. She would need to get her belongings as long as it was dark and the people – primarily the guards – were still distracted by the momentary uproar, scouring the city for the perpetrator.

A few more minutes passed, then she rolled to her side and sat up in a crouch. She crept slowly back into the water and swam in the rough direction of the main road on the side of the stables. Steadily Riften receded behind her.

~~

Just as the Bosmer finished rearranging her pack, she felt a strange tingling, as if-

She whirled around, her dagger at the ready, parrying the oncoming blow just in time.

“Time for you to die.” The mummed attacker hissed.

She groaned as she deflected yet another strike. After her escape she was far too tired for this. Not to mentioned soaking wet and freezing.

Her opponent swung his dagger with too much momentum, throwing himself out of balance, thus presenting her with a favourable opening. Lyliya threw herself forward into a somersault and, coming to a halt, she whirled around, her back arched, eyes fixed on the man and finally her own dagger at the ready. He was very fast, but so was she and their blades clashed together when they both started to attack.

“Do me and yourself a favour and just let me kill you!” His voice was muffled by the mouth cover of his cowl.

“I think not,” she ground out through clenched teeth while putting her whole weight into pushing against him.

It seemed futile. She lost more and more ground. It was so unfair! Only because she was of small height. Her eyes flicked around, her mind running at full speed, searching for a way out. Then he huffed in amusement and the Bosmer had enough. Her free hand darted down and before her opponent knew what was happening, she threw a fistful of dirt into his eyes.

“Raaah!” He jerked back, trying to wipe the debris out of his eyes. “Damn y-gggggrrrglll!!” His eyes widened in shock and fury, his hands clawing at her wrist.

She had taken the chance to ram her dagger through his throat, glaring menacingly at him. “Damn, indeed,” the little elf agreed and braced her feet against his chest to shove him off her knife, splurging blood around. A few more pathetic gargles left him ere he went still.

Lyliya stood above the dead body, panting heavily. Now, who was her attacker? She dropped onto her knees and undid his veiling. Her brows drew together in confusion. “Who the trice damned...” She didn't know the guy. And at the current conditions of illumination she couldn't even make out if he was a Nord, Breton or Imperial, only that he was of human race. The cogs inside her head started rattling. She eyed his attire. Tight leather armour. A hood with mouth cover... What if... But it couldn't be, could it?

She hastily rummaged trough the dead man's pockets until she heard the telltale rustle of parchment as her fingers caught on a note. She sucked in her lower lip in anticipation, unfolding the scrap of paper. Her heart skipped a beat.  
  


'As instructed, you are to eliminate Lyliya by any means necessary.

The Black Sacrament has been performed - somebody wants this poor fool dead.

We've already received payment for the contract. Failure is not an option.

\- Astrid'  
  


Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think you all know what's gonna follow now~
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos, comments and bookmarks, so far! <3
> 
> And I know, it's like super duper slow burn, but bare with me. There will be "nice" stuff soon. ;) Promise.
> 
> (Originally, I had planned to finish my second oneshot for my Onmund-series as a little Valentine's gift, but I was more inclined to continue this story. Hehem. :D)


	7. Hangovers caused by anything else than drinks are not desired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a new chapter! Sorry that it took me so long to post this, and it's even a shorter one than before! Shame on me. >_<
> 
> I'll try to have the next one ready much faster! (One or two more chapters, then there will be Cicero again. Promise!)

Her head was throbbing, her vision was blurry. “Wha-? Whe-?” Lyliya's tongue felt leaden.

The last she remembered, she was in a village named Ivarstead, downright collapsing in the bed she had rented at the inn. She had happened upon a road sign during her elopement and glad that she wouldn't have to sleep in the open three times in a row, she took the path to the settlement.

Now she was squinting against the weak but nonetheless annoying light of what seemed a rather draughty wooden shack. She pressed a palm against her face. Wasn’t she one lucky lass? Pretending to be from the Dark Brotherhood and at the same time having them at her tail. And on top of it all she now had even been successfully abducted.

“You’re awake. Good”

Lyliya was startled by a serene female voice. She turned her head in its direction and her look travelled up to see a person with an obstructed face and clad in tight-fitting red and black armour propped atop a shelf. The sight of the armour unexpectedly conjured the image of a merrily prancing and gasping jester. She could really do for his exhilarative company right now.

“Didn’t you hear me or are you ignoring me?” the mysterious woman enquired, sounding part wary, part amused.

The Bosmer woman wanted to shake her head No, “Ugh…the heck did you sedate me with?” she grumbled instead as a wave of nausea washed over her and she clutched her head again.

A snuffling snicker left the other woman before she answered. “Let’s leave that for later. First, we’ll talk business.”

With a frown Lyliya turned her face upwards.

“Heh, don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. Quite rich for someone who took one of our kills.”

One of their-? Lyliya’s face showed that she was currently stumped. Surely the aftereffects of the third party inflicted daze.

“Don’t get me wrong. You did a nice job in Riften. But we have a reputation to uphold, you under-“

“Oh great, I’m gonna die!” The Wood Elves eyes had grown wide as realisation hit her and she blat out the first thing that came to mind, covering once again her eyes with a hand.

The stranger laughed out. “Now,” she cleared her throat, “I, this means we, the Dark Brotherhood, have a little… _proposal_ for you.”

The groggy elf perked up, peering at the other askance through her fingers. “U-huh.”

“A kill for a kill.”

Lyliya felt her blood receding from her face, a lump building in her throat.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not talking about killing you, not necessarily,” the taller woman snickered. “Look, I want to see your capabilities up close. A test, so to say. Over there are three _guests_. One of them is a contract,” she said meaningfully.

For the first time since waking up, Lyliya noticed the moaning and wailing coming from the far end of the shack. Her eyelids fluttered in slow understanding, though she was still a bit confused. “Are you recruiting me?”

The other sighed, “Well, yes. Great you finally caught on.”

The Bosmer pulled herself together. “Alright. So, who’s the contract?”

“Ah, ah,” the taller one tutted, “No hints. You’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

Grumpily Lyliya stood up, unsheathed her dagger and trudged over to the three head-bagged hostages. Two of them were starting to plead and complain at the same time when they heard her approaching. Why did they have to be so noisy? Her headache started to flare up again. The one in the middle, a woman, was especially annoying. Lyliya pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.

“To the Void with it,” she murmured before she swiftly cut the woman’s throat – and in a matter of seconds she had just simply disposed of all three hostages.

“Now, ain’t you an over-achiever!” The assassin commented.

“Will you now lift the _secret_ _of the mysterious_ contract?” Lyliya emphasised in mock-sensationalism, waving her unarmed hand in a small arc while re-sheathing her dagger.

“Well,” the taller woman hopped off the shelf, “that will stay a mystery to us all.” She winked at the much smaller elf who wore a slightly disgruntled expression. “However, you showed that you’re made of quite the right stuff for our little band.” Halting her approach by striking a lopsided pose, one hand on her hip, the other stretched out towards Lyliya. “I’m Astrid. Welcome to the Dark Brotherhood.”

~~

Really? Falkreath? The Cemetery Hold. It surely couldn’t be a mere coincidence, the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary to be situated here of all places, Lyliya thought. She brushed off the twigs and dead leaves stuck to her clothes and hair as she stepped closer to what looked to be the entry.

Before parting with Astrid, the Nord woman had provided her with the location and the passphrase of the Brotherhood.

She stood in front of the Sanctuary’s entrance, slightly startled by the view of the door’s carving: A skull marked with the Brotherhood’s trademark handprint. But what actually caught her eye was the relief of a skeleton in a pose akin to a child being cradled.

It began with a shiver, then a distant echoing eerie, whispering sound. The more Lyliya concentrated on it the more it reverberated within her head and body, and she started to rather feel than hear it – a heartbeat. The Bosmer looked around frantically until her eyes settled back on the stone carvings and realisation hit her – the thumping was coming from the door, or rather from the skull.

She sensed a strange pull towards the door and delicately held out her hand, intent on touching it.

The thumping intensified, the pulsation echoing through her entire being stronger than before, taking her breath away. In equal measure the pull grew stronger until she finally leaned her forehead against the soothingly cool stone door, eyes closed, and suddenly she felt completely calm, taking a deep yet even breath.

“What is the music of life?”

The question seemed to be a breathy whisper directly insider her head. Lyliya’s eyes shot open in confused surprise, a small gasp escaping. She licked her dry lips, eyes closing in concentration to get her grip back before answering ever so quietly, like an invisible caress.

“Silence, my brother.”


	8. Welcome to the Brotherhood

The overwhelming feeling set off before slowly calmed while Lyliya followed the worn stone steps downwards. When she arrived at the end of the staircase, she was greeted by a familiar voice but the face it belonged to was still unknown.

“Ah, I see you found your way to us. Hope you had a nice journey.”

The Bosmer woman eyed the blonde warily for a moment before relaxing. “The typical,” she waved her hand dismissively, “bandits, wolves and the like… So, what will happen now?”

“Start your new life in the Dark Brotherhood, of course.” The Nord woman stated matter-of-factly. She grabbed a red-and-black pile of leathers and deposited in Lyliya’s arms. “Your _uniform_.” Never giving the Bosmer a chance to speak, the blonde turned and started off towards another flight of stairs. “This, as you can see, is our Sanctuary.” Astrid motioned around when they entered what supposedly was the main hall. “You won’t find a safer place in Skyrim. And since you’re now part of the family,” she looked at Lyliya from the corner of her eye, “feel free to get comfortable.”

Lyliya was only listening with half an ear. She was too busy taking in the sight of the hall. There was a forge and some training dummies to the left, an actual waterfall with a small pool to the right and above it a beautiful window of ornately worked stained glass depicting an iconic skull.

“-ts for you. Are you listening?” Astrid’s slightly irritated voice ripped Lyliya’s attention away from the stained-glass window.

“Huh?”

Astrid shot her an unreadable look. “I said, that I’ll prepare some contracts for you.”

The Bosmer nodded still somewhat absentminded.

“Well, until I’m ready, I suggest you go and make yourself acquainted to the rest of the family.” She gestured to a group at the opposite end of the hall.

Lyliya had not really paid attention to them standing there. They were talking animatedly. She had no clue what it was about but the way she stretched her neck and tilted her head to catch some word clearly showed that her interest was piqued.

Astrid cleared her throat. “For the start, you should ask Nazir for work.” She was about to leave the small elf when she added in a foreboding tone, “Soon, the Night Mother will arrive… And things around here are sure to get even more interesting.”

Night Mother?

Before Lyliya could ask what that meant, Astrid was gone, and she was standing alone in front of a laughing group that started to disband. So much for catching on their talk.

A tall, bearded Redguard approached her. “So, you’re Astrid’s newest recruit, huh?”

At the same height she had seen Astrid’s face a minute before she now stared at red cloth. Lyliya literally had to put her head back to look him in the eyes. “Why are you so huge?”

This was unexpected. The Redguards eyebrows rose up until he abruptly burst in a short bark. “Bwaha! That sure is a first. Usually small people don’t dare even look at me any closer, let alone make any kind of remark.”

She crossed her arms with a huff. “If I may kindly bring to your attention that I am of fairly regular Bosmer stature.” She looked at him admonishing, her underlip slightly protruding. 

“And may _I_ kindly bring to _your_ attention that all Bosmer are small and that I don’t really care.” He couldn’t really prevent one corner of his mouth pulling up as her pout grew more obvious. “Don’t worry. I’m the last one to underestimate someone because of their appearance. However,” he motioned her to follow, “I’ll show you the sleeping area where you can also store your belongings. My name, by the way, is Nazir.” 

The Bosmer shook the childish sulkiness off. “I’m Lyliya… Nazir, huh? Astrid told me to ask you for some jobs.” She pointedly ignored the humming wall when they climbed the staircase that was built between it and the waterfall. No need to give that bit of herself away yet; especially when she herself was very keen on ignoring that…divine _gift_.

“That’s right. But first,” he led her to the left into a maisonette-style room. “This is the common area. You can take whichever bed is free to rest in. Since we all mostly work at different hours there are always some beds unoccupied.” Nazir looked down to the much smaller elf.

“Sounds fine to me,” she shrugged unimpressed and walked to the bed standing in the far-left corner. She dropped her pack on top of the chest nearby. “As eager as I was to ask for a job but…can I have something to eat? Preferably no old…nah, any kind of apples.”

The Redguard cocked a questioning eyebrow at her. “Sure… Down here,” he said, already starting down one of those traditional Nord stairs made from logs.

“I can’t tell you how ha-UAAAP-P-P-P-“

“What in the-?” Nazir forgot the rest as he watched Lyliya scuttling _gracefully_ downwards on her bum.

“F-uck…By the big mother tree of …fuck,” she hissed trough her teeth as she stood, rubbing her sore sorry ass. Feeling the man’s observant eyes, she looked up. “I slipped.”

He cleared his throat. “Let me get this straight. You slipped. On a wooden stair. You slipped. On WOOD. YOU-”

“Yeah, I know! I’m a Wood Elf and I slipped on-“ she dragged a hand over her face. “Ugh, I can’t say it…this is more humiliating than I thought. Let’s please never talk about this ever.” She was unprepared to see the obvious signs of suppressed laughter on Nazir’s face.

A little girl’s head peaked inside from one of the kitchen entrances. “What was that ruckus?”

“Ah, Babette,” Nazir greeted the girl. “That was just the new blood here. Lost her footing in awe at the magnificent sight of our kitchen,” he said teasingly.

Babette shot first him then the Bosmer a critical look. “I _lived_ for quite a while. Considering this kitchen magnificent is equal to saying trolls are handsome.” She stated flatly. She stepped fully inside and stopped in front of the Wood Elf. “As you just heard, my name is Babette. Pleased to meet you.” She curtsied and flashed her a toothy grin.

“I’m Lyliya. The pleasure i –“ A very _toothy_ grin. Lyliya blinked a few times, then rose a forefinger as she spoke, “I know of people with long canines, but THESE are WAY too long. Are you-“

“A vampire. Yes.” The little girl chirped, clearly amused by Lyliya’s look of astonishment. “Is she getting some initiation contracts?” Babette asked Nazir expectantly.

“That was the plan.” He confirmed.

~~

By the time Lyliya was provided with a surprising amount of well-cooked food, Babette had told her about Astrid’s husband Arnbjorn being also a child of the night but hairier, Nazir had assigned her three jobs, and two other members of the Brotherhood had gathered in the kitchen, who were both eagerly offering some piece of advice for the upcoming jobs.

“First, it would be best to start with Narfi. As said, he’s located in Ivarstead and not too far off from the next contract.” Veezara suggested in an even tone that was characteristic for Argonians.

“Wouldn’t it be better to start with the lumbermill worker? He surely is easier to separate from other folks.” Gabriella threw in, continuing to nibble on a piece of sweet roll.

“Not necessarily. T-“

“WHAT NONSENSE!” An old man scuffled into the room. “You young people. Just go out there and let them know who you are and what’s expecting them.” He grabbed some bread and an unlabelled bottle, trudging back to the entrance he came from. He turned around and emphasised his next words with light bows and spread arms. “Walk up, introduce yourself and then,” he paused, “you flare them off with a good old Destruction spell!” And with that he was gone just as he had appeared.

Lyliya looked at the others, eyebrows raised and mouth full. “Who waff fhad?”

“Festus – just as lovely as always.” Babette commented. “Don’t worry, grumpy is his normal state.” The vampire girl stood up. “If you’d excuse me, I need to feed Lis.” And she was gone.

The Bosmer’s face drew up in confusion. “Lis is our pet frostbite spider,” Veezara clarified, before he slithered back to the main hall towards the training grounds.

“You have a _pet_ frostbite spider?!” Lyliya sputtered.

“ _Our_.” Gabriella corrected smiling, before she too left the kitchen, heading in the same direction as Babette.

“Come quite in handy. You know, with the poison and all,” Nazir winked at her, then followed Veezara.

Lyliya stared at the empty bowl and plate in front of her. As a Bosmer getting along with animals was nothing new to her but a _frostbite spider_? Really? What would be next – a _troll_?!

~~

Lyliya wandered around the Sanctuary exploring the rooms and corners Nazir had left out in his very brief tour of the place. She had remained a fairly long time in what seemed to have been an oratory or ritual chamber of sorts, beholding the ornamental stained-glass window. It looked beautiful, especially with the fine shimmer of light from the main hall trickling through, painting colourful specks on the floor. She couldn’t shake off the feeling of familiarity when looking at the depicted skull; like something she had been told about a long time ago.

In the end, the Wood Elf had continued on, snickering about the stone bed in the room she was sure was Babette’s, and wondering just who’s chamber the one in the back end was or had been – with the messily stored furniture, loose stonewall and, judging from the expanse of moss on the wall, apparently leaking roof.

Trudging back, but still not tired enough to fall pleasantly asleep, she tried for the little corridor Festus had entered the kitchen before and found herself in an open study. Gabriella was hunched over an alchemy table, concentratedly mumbling the recipe instructions written on a scrap of parchment. Babette was seated at the edge of Lis’ cobwebbed little den, and in another corner was Festus standing at an enchanting table.

Cautiously stepping to his side, Lyliya cleared her throat to make herself known. The old mage cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, yes, you're the new Family member.” He fiddled around with some soul gems and a dagger. “Let's make this easy,” he grumbled, turning slightly towards her, “consider me the cranky old uncle nobody talks to. You go your way, I'll go mine.”  
An involuntary snicker left Lyliya, causing both of the grumpy man’s eyebrows to raise and his face to lighten a tad up. “Hmph. You’re a strange one. This usually shoos ‘em away…”

She drew in a deep breath through her nose, nodding a few times. “Yeah, I get that every now and then. But better be thought strange than stupid,” she grinned when she noticed the small shine of amusement in his eyes.

“Hah, well said. Alright. You clearly have a question on your mind, and I’d appreciate continuing my work in peace. So out with it,” Festus grumped good-naturedly. 

Lyliya picked at her nails, contemplating about the best way to phrase her question. “Was the Brotherhood always like this? What about this Night Mother?”

“Ah,” Festus sighed heavily, showing a melancholic smile. “No, little elf. There once was a different time. A time of faith. When the Brotherhood was about more than just mere murder for money. I can still remember it, when I had just joined, a young lad at the time…” A certain sadness entered the Breton’s voice and his eyes, milky from age. “The Night Mother had significance then. She w-“

“There you are,” Astrid’s voice suddenly interrupted. “You should better rest up if you plan to depart on your first contracts tomorrow morn.” She wore a strangely dark expression the Bosmer wasn’t sure how to take.

But that she had interrupted the conversation right when the old Breton wanted to elaborate on the enigmatic figure that the Brotherhood formerly seemed to have centred around was more than conspicuous.  
She squared her jaw to will her face into a neutral expression so as not to give her suspiciousness away. “You’re probably right. It’s already late.” With a firm nod towards Astrid and a small smile for Festus she briskly left for the sleeping quarter.

Although she hadn’t seen the exhorting look Astrid had shot Festus, Lyliya had a nagging feeling the interruption had been on purpose.

~~

Three weeks had luckily passed quicker than expected and Lyliya was back in Falkreath, thankful for the more temperate climate after stalking and assassinating people in the freezing cold and travelling through the blasted snow-covered Holds.  
At least she had the foresight to start in Ivarstead. The contract had been very easy on her – both in weather and object. Though truth be told, all kills had been easy in the end.  
Even the final one in Dawnstar. After realising that there weren’t as many guards roaming about at night as expected, it had been child’s play to break in and _help_ the miner to a new _breathing opening_.

Lyliya leaned against the smooth stone of the Sanctuary door, tracing the chiselled surface with her fingertips, and feeling the strange but soothing pulse again. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself, and entered.

The Bosmer pulled down her shrouded cowl and ruffled her hair. From the top of the stairs she could hear a distant agitated babel of voices. When she was on the level of Astrid’s accommodations, the voices became louder, more distinct. What was going on? 

She froze in the passageway to the main hall when she spied wide-eyed who was standing there, on the small elevation before the waterfall, surrounded by a semicircle of assassins.

It was an antsy figure with the most peculiar clothing style, demeanour and parlance she had ever come across.

Her mouth quirked unwittingly up in a lopsided smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!!! FINALLYYYYY!!! GROAAAR!!   
> And at long last I can use my notes again...many...many...notes. Which will hopefully result in a more regular release of the next couple chapters.
> 
> Many thanks to all readers, commenters and kudoers! You guys are great and a huge boost! To know that there is more than just one person enjoying my "scribble" is really flattering.
> 
> And as always: See any grammar or typing errors? Tell me and I shall eradicate them for the sake of language and smoother reading! (I always beta my stuff and usually re-read the chapters when there's a new update but yeah...ya kno~)


End file.
